On his Imperial Majesty's Secret Service
by WkCIA
Summary: In the Noble Brightness of the Far Future, there is only HIGH ADVENTURE! as Imperial Agent and qualified Tax Accountant Alera Jumil and company promote reason, understanding, and adventure in his Imperial Majesty's Imperium! AU using Brighthammer40k
1. Chapter 1

On his Imperial Majesty's Secret Service Chapter 1

_I am shamelessly using the Brighthammer 40k spin off / parody universe__. Horrid Dystopias get difficult to write after a while; I hope you enjoy reading this romp as much as I did writing it!_

_And while I'm using the same characters, some of whom you haven't met yet in the "real" universe, you might find them a little different…_

* * *

_His Imperial Majesty, the Glorious Emperor of Mankind, has ruled for 10,000 years from the Golden Throne on Earth, bringing peace, enlightenment, and joy to all mankind and those others who wish to share the stars with us in universal brotherhood._

_He Walks among Us, protecting our Life, Liberty, and Pursuit of Happiness._

_His Space Marines Serve Us._

_His Imperial Guard Defend Us._

_His Adeptus Terra Provides for Us._

_His Noble Son, Horus, Intercedes for Us._

_The Emperor of Mankind has ruled for 10,000 years, and there is clearly no better time to be alive._

_In the Hopeful Light of the Far Future, there is only HIGH ADVENTURE!_

* * *

_999__.M41_, _Cadia_, _Segmentum Obscuras, Office of the Governor-Representant_

Imperial Agent Alera Jumil looked around her, detailing and cataloguing everything that caught her eye to her memory.

The room was clean, crisp, efficient. The secretary who had ushered them in was friendly and professional, wearing the standard grey uniform of the Administratum in a most becoming way. She had nearly smirked when she caught him glancing up and down her body. She wasn't wearing anything that would be considered remotely revealing on Earth, but here out in the colonies fashions were often a bit more conservative.

"The Governor-Representant will see you soon," the secretary had said. "Please, relax or prepare as you wish."

She'd cast her practiced eye over everything. It was a well appointed office complex, with tasteful furnishings and a lovely transparent plasteel window out to the cityscape below. It was twilight now, and as the planet's star began to dip below the horizon, little specks of light began to flicker on the streets below, as the traffic began to adjust to night conditions.

She looked out at it for a long time. She wondered what the people of Cadia were doing down there, in the middle of the flickering lights.

Alera heard a soft gasp of delight beside her, and smiled. The companion shrouded in robes emblazoned with the symbol of a stylized cogwheel and book standing next her was such a romantic that way.

And to be fair, when you saw the vista from the top of the governor's tower, anyone could be forgiven for being a little romantic about it.

A polite cough sounded from behind her.

"The Governor-Representant will see you now," the secretary said.

As Alera turned around, she noticed her companion was still panning her eyes across the cityscape.

"Coming, Ally?" she asked, raising a brow.

"In a second," the robed figure said, her voice melodious and sweet. "I'm recording this." She waited a few seconds more, as a loud clicking emanated from her body. Then it stopped. "Done," she said, turning to face her mistress.

The Agent smiled slightly more as the secretary, non-plussed, led them to the Governor's office.

Governor-Representant Amabo Karab was a busy man, but clearly was a busy man on a mission.

His office was filled with data slates, all piled in neat stacks on his desk. As the Agent and her companion entered the room, he stood up from his desk and came around to shake their hands, offering them seats at comfortable chairs in front of his desk. As Alera and Ally sat down, he returned to his seat and waited for them.

"Welcome, Agent Jumil, Magos Terenas," he said. "I'm glad my communiqué got through so quickly. How was your journey? Not too rough, I hope?"

Alera smiled and nodded. "Well, you know how it is," she said. "The Department of Navigation released a warning that Warp Storms might delay travel for up to a day or two while they plotted new routes, but otherwise it's been just fine." She fished in her pocket for a data slate and took it out, followed closely by a pair of glasses. She put the eyewear at the end of her nose, adjusting it slightly, and then glancing at the slate. "The communication you sent relies, I believe, on the financial data you've been providing the Adeptus Terra?"

"Yes," the Governor-Representant replied, nodding his head. "Since the last election, my government has been trying to shore up a big dip in Cadia's economy, and as a result I've had to make a lot of unpopular decisions. I wouldn't normally trouble the Adeptus Terra for such matters, especially since it wouldn't interfere on my side anyway, but I wanted some advice on whether it was legal for some of the groups I've… described… to organize and protest in such a manner I've described."

The Imperial agent continued to peer through her glasses at the scrolling data on her slate. "Well," she said, as she continued to read, "most of the stuff here is perfectly reasonable. Clearly protestors have the right to assemble and seek redress from the Emperor; we all know the Emperor stopped charging anyone with lese majeste or sedition just on the basis of protesting his or his representatives' policies since the Thorian reformation three thousand years ago; and no offence, but calling you names is unfortunately the free right of any Imperial citizen."

Kurab grimaced. "Yes, and so my attorney general tells me. And they keep saying I was born on an Ork planet, too. It's just par for the course for politics on Cadia. I was wondering, though, if they have the right not to pay legally imposed taxes or if you were allowed to act in the way they're doing…" He paused for a second. "That one's baffled all my government's ministers and lawyers."

Ally spoke up. "You mean, the 'Church of the Gods of Freedom?' The ones claiming tax free status?"

Alera raised a brow, turning to her . "You mean to say they're _not_ just Churches of the Grand Princes of Order? As far as I remember reading about it on your file they all worship the same beings... You know, Nurgle, Tzeentch, Khorne, Slaanesh…" She turned back to the Governor-Representant. "Easy. They're religious organizations, and can offset their income taxes to moneys they spend on charity work."

Kurab shifted uneasily. "That's not quite it, Ms Jumil."

Ally coughed, to gain their attention. "He's right, Alera," she said. "It's probably a bit hard to work out because you're not educated in the mysteries the way, say, I might be, but they're _not_ the same churches as those of the 'Gods of Order.'"

At the Agent's blank stare, the Magos pursed her lips in thought as she tried to parse her meaning correctly. "It's like the great schism debate in the Adeptus Mechanicus on the nature of the Omnissiah. The old church thought all knowledge exists and had to be found; the modern church moved on and accepted that developing new knowledge was surely a part of the Quest for Knowledge as well. We all solved that at the Council of Olympus Mons and reconciled the church, but these rifts happen in religion all the time. These… new cults worshipping the Grand Princes of Order may worship the same beings, but not be the same church." The Magos paused for the thought to sink in. "Which would mean, clearly, that they're not religious organizations for tax purposes until they claim it from the Adeptus Terra. Which they haven't."

The Governor-Representant spoke up. "I had a chat with Minister-master Horus through an astropath, and he's never seen or heard of their head priests before, let alone had one come to him to speak to one the Grand Princes through him. He checked with his brother Princes of Order and none of them know them either."

"How can I help you with that?" Alera asked, bemused. "I'm an auditor, not a doctor of theology!"

"You see, I think they're a fraud," Amabo Karab said. "They've been criticizing my government, and they've been telling citizens to give their money to them, so it can't be taxed, and using it to tell even more citizens to give them money! Only the Emperor knows where the hell they put it or what they use it for! They're literally _starving_ Cadia's coffers, and there is no way I can get the planet out of recession if I don't have the funds to do it with."

The Governor's hands gestured more emphatically now. "I'm on shaky legal ground if they're genuine churches, and the way they've been cultivating public support, I can't possibly start a native Cadian investigation without bringing my government down. In short, only an agent of the Adeptus Terra can tell my planet that they're being short changed to help a bunch of two bit fraudsters." He leaned forward and smiled wanly. "And that's why I sent for the best auditor in the Adeptus Terra that I know."

Alera smiled, her brilliant smile complimenting her snow white hair most becomingly.

"Tax Fraud, huh? Now Tax Fraud; that I can do."

* * *

Imperial Flight Captain Garen Danar took off his shoes, nodded in greeting to the deacon merrily sweeping the floor of the lobby he was in, and took a deep breath. He personally found the shrines of the Grand Princes of Order somewhat disturbing, but no one who had been brought up in the rationalist school of thought that defined the Emperor's realm could feel anything but a slight unease in that which could not be explained.

He walked through the passageway leading out of the lobby, and found himself in the throne room of Khorne.

The room was large, vaulted gothic architecture that inspired a grandeur and awe in all who saw it. There were pews, rows upon rows that stretched out into the distance, and at the front, the awe-inspiring image of Khorne the Magnificent, the Bringer of Glory and the Avatar of Valour.

The statue was carved out of marble, almost reaching the ceiling many metres above him, of a man in a great suit of armour, sitting at ease on a throne resting on the relics of a thousand great battles. In one hand was a mighty sword, its marble representation almost ten metres tall. From the pews came the soft chantings of a thousand worshippers, finding courage in the image of the great warrior; _Courage for Valour; Prizes for his throne_.

Garen could feel himself stand ever so slightly taller even as he heard it. He quickly shook his head, though, as if to clear it, and scanned the crowd for his target, with the characteristic little mop of hair…

Raelin Clarinel broke into a happy grin when she saw someone she hadn't seen in a long time standing at the sacristy door.

"Garen!" she said, her voice not quite breaching the decorous hum in the great throne room beyond. In a swirl of robes, the Priestess of Khorne took the surprised pilot in her arms and swung him around, setting him down as if he didn't weigh anything to her. She crushed Garen into her chest in a bear hug for a good few seconds, then moved him back so she could look him over.

She let go of him and prodded him in the chest with a finger, chiding him gently. "You haven't visited me in _months_, Mister hot shot Pilot," she smiled, as he began to flinch at the poking. "I was beginning to think that you'd found some other girl; you know, one in another port, hmmmmm?" She kissed him gently on the lips in greeting, exulting in the little spark that jumped in her heart even after all these years. "Or maybe one of those gorgeous colleagues you spend all your time working with. The Imperial Agent and the Magos."

Garen smirked, and wrapped his arms around her. "You know how Ms Jumil and Ms Terenas are; all married to their jobs and mooning over dashing Explorators." He tried to turn the tables. "And how about you, Ray, being propositioned by all those Slaaneshi priests and priestesses?"

Raelin raised an eyebrow. "And what part of you wouldn't mind _at all_ if I accepted a proposition from a priestess of Slaanesh?"

The two of them clung to each other for awhile, feeling their bodies against each other, away from prying eyes. Not that others would mind that much, for the courage to show your feelings in a church of the God of Courage was the kind of passion that Khorne could appreciate. Not like that tired old man, Nurgle, all propriety and gentleness, or the inconstant fickleness of Slaanesh.

"Hmm… on that note, how about after vespers I take you out tonight; dinner and a walk under the Eye of Harmony, and forget for a little bit just how rarely I get to spend time with you?"

Raelin made a show of considering it for a moment.

"Lord Khorne give me courage," she said. "My husband is being romantic." She kissed him lightly on the lips again.

She whispered in his ear with all the promise she could imply in a church.

"Yes."

A slight commotion from beyond the sacristy door interrupted their reunion.

Hearing surprised shouts and cries of concern, the Priestess of Khorne put her husband down and raced out into the nave of the shrine.

The constant, gentle refrain of the prayer of the God of Valour had died down, as a poor woman in the robes of the Adeptas Sororitas lay on the path between pews, in paroxysms of rapture. Her eyes were open, an eerie blue light radiating from them as she thrashed about. A few priestesses and priests of Khorne were clearing away a space for her so the woman wouldn't injure herself or others.

One of the priests moved toward Raelin. "Sister Superior Clarinel," he said, motioning to the woman still writhing on the ground. "She's having a vision, but she demanded she see you."

It happened, every now and then; occasionally, a warrior or a person seeking the conviction of the God of Valour was blessed with his visions; of duty and honour and the glorious prizes of strength and courage.

This woman though…

"Why are you crying?" Raelin asked, puzzled, as she kneeled down to take the woman's face in her hands. Khorne abhorred the weak. Why would he grace someone to show such inconstancy?

A single tear rolled down the woman's cheek as she continued to see things that no one else could. She said nothing.

"What is your name, pray tell?" Raelin asked.

"Lena," the sister sobbed suddenly, as if she fought against the nightmares happening in her mind. "Lena Fyrovski." She suddenly looked at Raelin, and her eyes grew wide, in terror.

"The Four!" she cried. "The Four.. fallen! Fallen!"

"The Gods of Order?"

"CHAOS!" she cried, and her voice went higher, almost to a shriek. "CHAOS Gods, corruptors of Horus, killer of the Emperor, bringers of darkness… the blood, the blood… They COME! They COME to BRING THEM!"

"Bring whom where?" The Sister Superior asked.

"The Four, the same, the same but not… cruel they are, without restraints, from a world of ours but not the same… the same, but not the same…" Lena's eyes suddenly focused, lucid. "Our Khorne warned us of his brother, his brother Khorne, him but not him, a brutal tyrant who has no honour, come to remake our world as theirs for sport…"

Raelin turned to the nearest priest. "Get the Medicae. She's having a bad reaction to a gift from Khorne."

"KHORNE!" Lena suddenly shouted, an almost feral noise. "KHORNE! KILL! MAIM! BURN! KILL! MAIM! BURN! WHAT WEAKNESS IS THIS 'GOD OF VALOUR' IN YOUR PITIFUL EXISTENCE? WHAT RIGHT HAVE HE TO TAKE MY NAME???? KHORNE! DEATH! MURDER! MURDER DEATH KILL! MURDER DEATH KILL! MURDER DEATH KILL!"

And then, the general hubbub of concern for the poor woman was shocked to utter silence by the blasphemy that came from Lena Fyrovski's mouth.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE THRONE OF KHORNE!"

Garen Danar reached for his communicator.

That sort of language never boded well.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Monris Rekesten had a lot of thinking to do, which happened to be what made him the most happy.

It was a defining characteristic of his, even as his parents had been told by his teachers that their son had a gift worthy of sending him onward to the Schola Progenium after his studies with them. Perhaps, they had said, even a position with the Adeptus Terra, the elite corps of Imperial Civil Servants answerable only to the Emperor himself.

His parents had been rather disbelieving. Was this the same boy who had a new girl on his arm every other week? The same one with a constant rippling, crackling wit, with a thousand friends and a languid ease? An _Adeptus Terra_ man?

His parents had shrugged their shoulders and trusted the teachers, which was good, for Monris Rekesten was just as good as his teachers had promised, and after the great Necrontyr Master _Herald of Serenity_ himself had declared that he had nothing left to teach him in the ways of logic, the Emperor of Mankind had thought fit to introduce this young prodigy to one of his younger Imperial Agents, who was quickly developing a reputation for being fast, thorough, and sharp as a tack; touring the facilities and picking up slack in his Imperial Majesty's name. Her short skirt and long jacket were famous throughout the galaxy; synonymous with meticulous precision and a fine eye for detail.

It was, in a sense, a professional match made in heaven.

The gaunt man in the severe, unadorned clothing was right now sitting in a dark room, the perfect environs for his mind in isolation, churning through a mountain of data contained in the combined data networks of the entire Imperial data net, a truly monumental store of knowledge that only the great White Library of the Eldar outmatched. An unobtrusive cable snaked from behind his ear to an interface leading into an understated computer console set into the wall of his quarters. His eyes were closed, but they flickered slightly as his mind's eye processed each individual piece of data that fed through him. He could have gone down to the surface with the rest of his partner's entourage, but he had a liking for space. It was calm and silent, serene, reminiscent of the calm he had been taught by an ancient Necrontyr. And so he had decided to stay on board the _Starry Jupiter_, an ancient trade cruiser part of his Imperial Majesty's personal space fleet and now their home. He smiled to himself as he thought of its owner.

_Oh no, don't worry about it, Alera! I haven't taken her for a spin in nearly a millennium. Take her! Look after her, and she'll do right by you._

Then the flickering stopped as the gentle ticking from the data port ceased. Silence reigned in the room, broken only by the gentle hum of air extractors. The Investigator's eyelids began to flit even faster as his brain began to correlate the data he'd already gone through with what he saw.

He murmured something under his breath, which was quite out of character for a man for whom steely control was a way of life, taught not only by character but by beings who had not felt anything but serenity in over a billion years.

"…sure she's to do with it?"

There was more silence, but loud clacking from the data bank.

"Yes, Master Horus. I'll see to it."

Monris Rekesten opened his eyes, mindful that they were reflecting something he had not felt since he was a child.

They were creased with uncertainty.

* * *

Meanwhile, Ally Terenas looked into her latest victim's face, and she liked what she saw.

Granted, he didn't have that aura of gentle confidence that emanated from her good friend and partner in crime, Garen Danar, which she found so bewitchingly attractive, but his eyes were sky blue and his face well cut, with a pleasant demeanor that hinted at hidden depths and cheekiness. She wanted to work him out, which, for a girl in the Adeptus Mechanicus, would be confused and conflated for being in flaming lust for a human being. Not that it would be wrong.

"My name is Errold Flynn," he said. "Pleased to meet you. You would be?" He extended his hand in a polite handshake.

"Allena Caelia Terenas af99386b," she replied, impishly. "My friends call me Ally. You may call me Doctor Terenas." She took his hand and gave it a firm shake. If he was surprised by her strength, he did not show it.

"Of course, Doctor," he said. He gestured to the rather full bar and the patrons chatting, dancing, or engaging in other pursuits. "It's not often that I see an Adept around here," he said, smiling. "Can I get you a drink?"

"You may, as long as I pay for it," she smiled, "and as long as I get to monopolize your attention for at least the next ten minutes."

The next ten minutes were, indeed, just as Ally had expected. He was pleasant, charming, affable, and his eyes were very, very easy to get lost in.

She was by now tilting her head to the side and very subconsciously flicking her hair around her ear when one of her cogitators had finally, after screaming any number of advisories at her, informed her that she was now walking in the pleasant Cadian night, never quite totally dark with the gentle spiral of the Eye of Harmony up in the sky.

_How on Earth did I get here?_ She asked herself.

_Subject Flynn suggested a walk away from the crowds and noise. Subject exhibiting mildly increased heart rate, dilated pupils, increased blood flow to the ge.._

_That's quite enough,_ she told herself.

Before she could answer herself, an earnest looking young man approached the two of them.

"An adept!" he said, smiling at her in a friendly way. The man was plainly but nearly dressed, a purple vestment over some rather conservative looking clothes, with a hint more ornamentation than she would have expected on a priest of Slaanesh. He was clearly a long time missionary, of the kind that dotted imperial worlds and asked you politely to perhaps see if you'd like to join the church of Khorne, or Nurgle, or even the Adeptus Mechanicus. "I hope you don't mind if I speak to your friend here?"

Ally smiled. His demeanour was infectious. "Of course," she said. "But I'd like him back afterwards! I'm not after his soul!"

Next to her, Errold Glynn raised an aristocratic eyebrow, his mouth quirking into a tiny smile. The Magos turned to him and smirked.

The priest nodded, and took a data slate from his robes and proffered it to Ally's aristocratic companion. "I trust, sir, that you know of Slaanesh?" His smile was truly infectious now, his teeth seemingly perfect.

Errold Glynn responded that he hadn't flown the Imperium's spaceways for fifteen years and remained ignorant of the Churches of the Lords of Order.

"Oh no, not that," the priest said, quite affably. He gestured non-committally, and Ally's cogitators picked up any number of pleasant smelling esters emanating from him, mixed in with several strong male… _and_ _female_ pheromones.

_It is odd, Mistress_, she said to herself, _but not entirely outside the powers of the God of Love?_

The adept gave herself a mental shrug.

"You see, the churches are… what can we say…" the priest pondered the thought for a moment. "They're not really… _into_ what the essence of the Lords of Order are. You know, with their churches and their hierarchies and their prayers. I like to think we're worshipping a more pure version of their ideals…"

It was as boring to Ally as would it be boring to a baseline for her to explain IP addressing and proxy protocols over the entire Imperial Aethernet, but one of her cogitators kept a good record of what the missionary was saying, even as his carrying voice began to draw a curious crowd around him. She noticed some of the local Arbites keep a careful but loose watch on the action, more for crowd control than anything else. Freedom of religion was, after all, a guaranteed right in the Imperium.

The preacher went on. "Of course!" he addressed the crowd, and they were rapt at this glorious looking man in the exquisite robes with the angelic appearance, "we who are worshippers of the Gods of… Order, wish to spend our time communing purely with our lords, with the great spirits that inhabit the sky above us!" and he looked up, as did many others, at the great, calming swirl of the Eye of Harmony above. "And yet we can't be left in peace! Did you know that Omabo Karab asked us to file a _Tax Return_ the other day? His government has been asking our followers to file _Tax Returns_ before they can worship Slaanesh the way he/she was supposed to be!"

He waited for the slight murmur of discontent to brew through the crowd before starting again. "You know, we don't want to deal with government bureaucrats who have to always keep asking if we're religions or not! _Tax!_ He cried, almost laughing. Who cares about _Tax_ and governments of men when we can _all_ be thinking about serving the Gods?"

Amongst the general consensus of concern for the government's taxation of such an obviously spiritual group, Ally caught eye of two figures in the crowd who seemed just to be milling through the crowd, and for a moment she stiffened with what she thought was a strange unease, when she saw the clerical bob of one of them, of a sanctioned priest or priestess of a church. But then she saw the pilot's cap on the head of the man next to the priestess in the crowd, and how they weren't interested in anything around them but each other, she relaxed.

She saw Garen smile, and laugh, and gently take the hand of the priestess of Khorne. Raelin had snuggled into him almost by reflex, even though they both knew that she was far stronger than he was. Lost in their own little world, they disappeared into the happy crowds as life continued to ebb around them in the night lights, completely oblivious to the preacher and the crowd he had drawn.

As the priest of Slaanesh continued to cheerfully harangue the crowd and her companion, Ally smiled wistfully after her friend for a reason she couldn't quite understand.

* * *

Garen Danar thought over what he had seen that night, and he was sure he saw someone he recognized in the crowds, especially near that rather engaging preacher. But he dismissed the idea as he opened the door to the small but comfortable apartment that he and Raelin shared.

It _had_ been a good night, all things considered. Cadia was not one of the most beautiful planets in the galaxy for no reason, when scant light years away, the concentrated power of every single living thing's love, hope, and dreams manifested itself in a permanent light show.

"Are you sure it's OK to leave your boss like that?" Raelin Clarinel asked. She was breathing slightly heavily, and she panted slightly.

"She said Monris was going to be with her, and that I needed the night off."

"Amazing boss," Raelin commented, to no one in particular. She got a muted grunt in agreement as a response. She yelped slightly.

Feminine peals of laughter began to echo through her apartment.

Garen spoke up. His voice was somewhat hoarse. "So what did you think of your night after vespers?"

"I don't know, dear. My night hasn't finished yet."

More laughter, until finally giggles, and one final, happy sigh.

* * *

Alera Jumil took a sip of _Ulara_ tea from the cup in her hand, and looked at the two bleary eyed figures trying hard not to look too dead across the table from her.

"Late night, huh?" she asked, to no one in particular.

Ally Terenas and Garen Danar stared daggers of hatred at their boss from across the table. If they noticed the somewhat haggard look she sported, they did not comment. Her other Investigator beamed, having found a good cup of _Tanna_, playing with some odd application or game on his data slate.

The Imperial Agent ignored them and smiled wanly. "Well, since you've had a night to re-acquaint yourselves with Cadia, let's get to business, shall we?" she motioned to two data slates on the desk in front of her, and slid them to the pilot and Magos.

"What did you find out?" she asked.

Ally spoke up first, but the first thing out of her mouth was a burst of Machine, which she quickly converted to standard low gothic. "Everyone I have met thinks they are just a new branch of the Churches of the Gods of Order. Charismatic pastors, priests who really 'know' you and how you're feeling… nothing more suspicious than say, the Church of Khaine the Constant-Handed." She fished out some data pads from her robes. "Some pamphlets they handed out to me last night." She shrugged as she put them on the table and slid them to everyone. "They don't look that threatening. Or that different, even."

Garen's brow perked up slightly, for he knew what his wife thought about those petty heretics, ecumenism notwithstanding.

"They seemed to harp on a lot about being able to worship who they liked in peace, and not being bothered by the government about tax. Kept going on about it. They all said that they and their followers were entitled to relief from it and they didn't want the government to tax an obviously religious organization, official recognition be damned."

Alera gestured at one of the data slates she had put on the table. "I've had a quick look through the system's tax revenues. They've been dropping precipitously. A lot of people are claiming the religious exemption because they're all members of one of the churches of the lords of order." She pointed to the other one. "Those are the fully audited accounts and rolls of the churches of the Lords of Order."

The number of people claiming exemption was growing exponentially faster over the past two years…

"I am sorely tempted," Alera said, "to just start prosecutions for false tax returns, but based on what you've said I'm going to start a riot if I do." She looked around the table.

The languid figure sipping at his tea spoke up. "And still Minister-Master Horus has no idea who these people are, because none of the Lords of Order know who these people are." He sat up slightly, as if bringing his full intellect to bear. "We also have to consider the matter of our young friend Lena Fyrovski."

The rest of the table turned to him, for he had said that last sentence in a tone that meant that _he didn't know exactly what the ramifications of that consideration were_, which, in the case of Monris Rekesten, Imperial Scholar and Investigator, was an _extremely_ rare occurrence. "I think she has something to do with all this."

Monris looked up. "Master Horus believes Khorne is… is _frightened_ of the vision he showed her."

He let the shocked silence linger for a moment.

"The physical avatar of courage is _afraid_ of what that girl knows."

* * *

Imperial Agent Alera Jumil frowned. Monris sat next to her, staring impassively at the young woman trying to articulate what she had just gone through. It was not an unkind stare; an appraisal, the bringing to bear of skills earned over several decades in the Emperor's secret service.

"And what did the voices describe?' Alera asked, one hand reaching for a cup of _Ulara_ tea, the other typing manically into a data slate as she took more notes.

Lena Fyrovski, comfortably seated now in one of the comfortable chairs in Alera's office on board the _Starry Jupiter_, a and in loose fitting robes, closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself, and think about how best to explain what she'd heard from her unseemly antics in the temple of the God of Valour.

"It is a galaxy like ours," she started, her voice low, quiet. "Earth, Cadia, all the planets of the Emperor's realm…" her voice began to choke, and she abruptly stopped. Alera felt her Investigator fidget, as if to move over to comfort her, but a gentle gesture with her hand bade him sit back. Monris Rekesten looked askance at her, before he leaned back in his chair, his usual noncommittal look on his face.

"It's all right," she said. "I can find it out myself." Lena looked up in surprise, as the Agent's eyes began to glow a gentle blue and she felt a kind, subtle presence enter her mind.

_May I?_ Alera thought, and after a quick, mental nod of Lena's head, she was in.

* * *

_Alera stood on a flat plain, the sky crackling overhead with thunder._

_It looked familiar. It certainly looked almost like Cadia itself; but where beautiful spires arched into the sky in the familiar outlines in her memory, the buildings here were squat, flat, almost…_

_Bunkers._

_She looked around, saw milling citizens, all dressed in full combat gear. Frowned, puzzled, as she wondered where she could be to come to a barracks where everyone was permanently in combat uniform, with no sight of rest fatigues. Gasped in horror, as she saw a young boy, no older than twelve, dressed in uniform and wielding a Lasgun of such a boxy and primitive manufacture that she had not seen in anything but an Imperial Guard barracks museum. There was a haunted look in his eyes, that of a combat veteran, and Alera's gut recoiled at the thought that the boy had already seen too much death in barely over a decade of life._

_The thunder crackled overhead, and Alera Jumil looked up. She saw it then._

_It was the Eye of Harmony, the great Warp Storm that was the temporal seat of the Lords of Order, and she shivered with an irrational fear she couldn't quite explain. Where the Eye of her memory glowed with the serene tranquility that gave it its name, that provided a second focus for navigators in the Warp to trilaterate along with the Astronomican and the Pulse Beacon at Ultima Macharia, here in the rowling storms light years wide was only an unreasoning unease, a feeling of… _

_Terror._

_Alera felt rather confused by all this._

_Suddenly Alera was on a sandy world, an explorator from the Adeptus Mechanicus and his retinue unearthing some ancient relic; the blocky, black outlines of the great Teachers, and their four masters. Her view reached in with the team as they entered the dark space, until they found one of the ancient rooms where the Teachers had lain in sleep, waiting for more worthy students. She watched, fascinated, as the figure with the symbol of a cogwheel and skull, not a book, performed an ancient ritual of activation over one of the sleeping Necrontyr in its tomb._

_It powered up, and suddenly Alera saw the grinning rictus of its skull manufacture, the cruel light in its eyes as they came back to life, and she almost screamed as one of the gentle ancients who had given their souls to the pursuit of knowledge and the mastery of their emotions to younger races began to systematically flay every single member of the explorator team alive._

_She did not like what she saw at all now._

_She saw Orks cut down defenceless, unarmed civilians crying for mercy, laughing at their casual breaches of their most ironclad codes of honour, longer lived than humanity. She saw Commoragh, not as the shining, bright example of civilization to all mankind, but as a place all men would fear as an endless nightmare. Where there was once a Squat homeworld, there was but a charred rock._

_She saw Space Marines fighting other Space Marines, one a mockery of the clean cut armour of his Imperial Majesty's designs. Looked on in horror as a Commissar of the ranks shot one of the men under his care for daring to request relief; saw the hideous spectacle of the man she'd been talking to just a week previously, his gentle smile and mischievous good humour reflected on his face, now twisted into a dead husk on a piece of machinery a continent wide. _

_Then she saw a woman with long, snow white hair and a dark complexion, all too familiar a sight; a hard glint in her eye and a cruel twist to her bearing, as she looked over a planet filled with a billion men and women overrun by some freak onslaught of the daemons that eternally kept the Astartes and Guard and Minister-Master Horus busy in her galaxy, all alternately praying *__Praying*? to the Emperor, finding what solace they could, and begging her, or *any* human to save them from damnation of the chaos that had overtaken their world. She looked at the last transmission from the planet; a defeated Governor, accepting his fate. The woman looked up from the naval station of an Imperial starship._

"_Yes, You have clearance, Captain." She nodded at the hard, flint like face of the man in uniform next to her._

"_Commence Exterminatus."_

_Alera Jumil wanted to stop watching what happened next, but she could not._


	3. Chapter 3

OHIMSS 3

_999.M41, Cadia, Segmentum Obscuras_

The woman dressed in the simple yet flattering clothes of a devotee of Slaanesh took a calming breath, and then removed her shoes and placed them in the box designated to hold them.

It had been many years since she had set foot in a temple of one of the Gods of Order, but she knew the rituals well enough, even without having to read the helpful placard placed near the entrance to the vestibule where she had left her footwear. She turned to the deacon guarding the door, nodded and smiled, and kissed her full on the lips. She felt a tongue press politely on her lips if she wanted to continue with the ritual for more devoted followers, but she not did return the motion, and soon the deacon had wished her a good day in Slaanesh's grace and gently dabbed a sweet, floral perfume on the woman's wrists and nape of her neck.

A few of the God/dess of love's worshippers craned their necks to look at the new worshipper; would have noted the supple skin, shapely figure, long, snow white hair that flowed down the woman's shoulders and halfway down her back. They would have noted, as well, the elegantly and deadly looking blade holstered across her back; but such weapons were hardly illegal in a galaxy as potentially dangerous as the one the Imperium was in.

A heady scent filled Alera Jumil's nostrils, and she heard a soothing melody in the air as hundreds of people prayed for love and fulfilment from the embodiment of the Eldar Goddess Isha, imbued with the combined might of that ancient race in an all encompassing radiance of its love for all other beings. The room was warm, and Alera felt the urge to join in, and partake of the happy feelings Slaanesh gave the galaxy.

Ally and Garen trailed behind her. The Magos was, as usual, looking around in wonderment, no doubt scanning everything she observed to a cogitator. Her pilot was dressed in duty fatigues. She had learnt a long time ago that civilian clothing was not an easy fit for Garen Danar, who never failed to exude a military bearing trained into him almost literally since birth. It wasn't a huge stretch for a man to be in the uniform of the Imperial Navy, since Cadia was one of the more fortified planets on the western rim of the Imperium, and every now and then the Eye of Harmony would belch out random warp storms carrying embodiments of spirits too impure and violent to ever find a home amongst the realms of the Lords of Order.

A few of the attendants noticed her, and after interpreting her polite nod of inquiry correctly, had ushered the trio to a man in simple yet well tailored robes.

The man was sitting on a carpet by the side of the shrine room, cross-legged and with the robe down to his waist. Alera raised an eyebrow involuntarily, for his form was… most attractive. In front of him was a girl, a novitiate of some kind, similarly with her robes down to her waist, her chest bare to the air. There was a crowd of them, all similarly dressed, although only the girl in front of the man had her chest showing. The robed man put his hands out in front of him.

"Hold my hands," the man said, and the girl complied, shaking slightly as she did so. Her gaze began to falter as a blush began to rise on her cheeks.

The man smiled. "No, no, Tilla, focus!" He held her hands firmly, but gently, his eyes looking straight into the girl's.

The girl steeled herself and looked back into the man's eyes. Her breathing slowed as she fought her inner, baser desires and focused on the touch of the man here with her to help her enlightenment. After a while, she began to smile. A carefree, happy smile, as a look of pure contentment settled into her features.

"That's it, Tilla!" said the man, smiling back. "Love, not Lust! Slaanesh isn't a thirst!" He held her hands aside and gave her a hug, letting her exult in the feeling of joy. The man let her go, and nodded. "Do you think you could show that ritual to the rest of the class for today?" The girl nodded.

It was then that he looked up at the Imperial Agent and her companions. "I apologise for my abject behaviour," the priest of Slaanesh said, as he hitched his robe back up to his shoulders and stood up. "You must be Ms. Jumil." He subtly and discreetly motioned the group away from the throng of novitiates now holding hands toward one of the clearer walkways.

"Pleased to meet you," she said politely, as she navigated around a lay member lost in happy prayers. "Brother Tolgerias?" At the affirming nod, she motioned to her two companions. "This is Magos Terenas, and this is Mr Danar." She turned back to the priest of Slaanesh and motioned toward the throng of people around them. "Thank you for coming to meet us. Is there somewhere more private we can discuss our inquiry?"

A few moments later the Agent found herself in a simple, pleasantly furnished room. A few art objects were displayed around the room, and she found they fit extremely well together with the décor. The colours were inviting, the spacing of furniture somehow perfect. The room almost seemed…

"To want you to feel happy?" offered Tolgerias, as he gestured the three toward couches in the middle of the room. He smiled as he saw Alera's brow darken with a somewhat put upon frown. "Haha, sorry, I get that a lot from people I show in. This is what I'd call my office. You might find some church paperwork strewn around here sometimes, but it's mostly a place for me to relax." He flopped down on a couch, and picked up a datapad lying on the armrest.

"I got your message the other day, and I've had a look through my church records, and I've even had a chat with the synod." He pointed to the image of a man now projecting out of the datapad. "Don't know him. No one in the Church of Slaanesh knows him."

A sweet, gentle voice spoke up now, from Alera's right. "I sent you the entire sermon, as well as appropriate metrics to fit him to any biometric data you've got," Ally said. "Are you sure no one recognises him? He was a priest of Slaanesh all right…"

It was at these words that Tolgerias' expression darkened. "Well yes, about that…" The man leaned back a little into his couch, and closed his eyes, steepling his fingers together as he considered how he would phrase what he would say next. "His theology's wrong."

Alera arched an eyebrow. "Love? I wasn't aware that was a characteristic of say, Khorne."

Tolgerias' mouth quirked up in a smile. "Oh no, not that. _It's the way he's talking about it_." He tilted his head to the side, thinking. The three people in front of him, good rationalists all, would not quite understand the subtle nuances of his religion.

"Proper worship of the Lord of Love and Joy is more complex than the popular conception," he started. "Just because Nurgle preaches acceptance and compassion doesn't mean you just let horrible things happen to you or other people; just because Tzeentch embodies hope doesn't mean you plot and scheme whatever you want so you can see if your plans come true. Just because Khorne loves the brave doesn't mean you show mindless disregard for your safety. Just the same with Love." He pointed around the room. "One of the first things we teach new novitiates is that Love and Joy come from accepting, from finding love and serenity and passion from what we experience. My office, for example."

He glanced at the artworks in turn, nodding at each. "It's furnished not to get a reaction from you, it's arranged so that you can feel what joy you can find in the situation. Slaanesh is not found in ever higher levels of passion or enjoyment or sensation; Slaanesh is found by _perceiving_ what makes you happy and exulting in that."

He spread his hands and smiled; a disarming gesture. "I was out there with Tilla and the novices just then. It's not about the sensation itself that brings joy; it's about finding the joy in the situation you have and not wanting more… Which is patently not what I heard from your alleged preacher."

"What *did* our preacher talk about?" asked Garen, leaning forward now, his chin resting on his closed fist.

"Yes, funny that," Brother Tolgerias said. "Mostly the same things. Except instead of perceiving joy from your surroundings, his argument was that you worshipped Slaanesh to _find_ those sensations that bring you joy."

"And this makes a difference?" Alera asked, eyebrow raised in quizzical inquiry.

"Well, yes," said the priest. "Because the proper worship of Slaanesh is about knowing what makes you happy. He was talking about seeking what makes you happy."

It was at that moment that the priest of Slaanesh suddenly sat bolt upright in his couch, just moments before a novitiate burst into the room.

"Brother Tolgerias!" the boy shouted, clearly unnerved. "They've frakking gone crazy!"

* * *

It was probably a good thing that the pews of the church of Slaanesh were made of a solid adamantium alloy fashioned to feel like a solid wood. Lay members of the church lay behind them, trying to take cover, some running for the exits when they had the chance, as the writhing mass of flesh that was a group of Slaanesh initiates convulsed aimlessly near the carving of the God of Love's symbol at the altar.

Their individual forms could still be distinguished, but they moved as one, an amorphous, near shapeless mass of blood and bone that glistened most… _seductively_ as it searched for more bodies to add to it. It began to almost sashay around, testing its movements, waiting for the right moment to lunge at the cowering lay members stuck between it and the door at the other end of the chapel.

"Holy Prince," Brother Tolgerias swore, and at the sound of his voice the _thing_ flung a fleshy limb at him, composed of what seemed to be the top half of the initiate Tilla. A sudden blue crackling field of energy flared from the priest of Slaanesh, and the horror stopped short, as if stung by it.

Then the thing _spoke_, and it was a sound of pure, angelic beauty.

"Oh Brother Tolgerias," he/she/it said, a heavenly chorus of beatific peace. "You miss out!"

"On what?" was the somewhat disbelieving question.

"The peace of Slaanesh," it said, and once again what seemed to be Tilla reached out for him with her hand. Crackling, eldritch energy emanated from the priest again as he called on his patron God to protect him, to aid his psychic powers, but this time she pushed through the divine barrier.

"Brother, please," the Tilla/thing smiled, as other parts of the conjoined being began to crack and snap as bones broke and remeshed. "Did you think that we would be barred by our mutual Lord and Master?"

The thing reached out with what was the initiate's hand, and then Alera Jumil's eyes glowed a bright azure blue. This time, with a definite crack and yowl of pain, the monstrosity drew back. The priest of Slaanesh scurried backward, out of the reach of the creature. It turned to the Imperial Agent.

"Why, hello," the _thing_ said, its voice melodious and sweet, seemingly composed of a dozen voices. "Someone with her own power."

Alera Jumil's eyes continued to blaze a shining, azure blue, as she carefully unholstered a bolt pistol and raised it toward the abomination. A few of its limbs arced out to reach her, but every time, sparks would fly as they smashed against the blue, shimmering barrier erected by her will.

It had been a long time since she had had to deal with an emotional entity. Alera was an Imperial Agent of the Ordo Respublica, the third great order dealing with the public trust and governance of the Imperium, and it was normally the Ordo Malleus that was tasked with the active prevention and containment of eruptions of emotional entities from the Warp. Spurned by the Lords of Order and cast out by the ministrations of Minister-Master Horus and his brother Princes, minor beings of malice and hate spilled out into the real world. Some called them daemons, and it was not inaccurate; but they were simply psychic emotions made real, and her training kicked in as naturally as her specialty in dealing with corruption.

"You will unhand your victims," she said, with icy courtesy. The bolt pistol was trained at what was Tilla's head, the Agent hoping that it was the creature's controlling brain.. Such calm was standard procedure, for emotional entities fed off the emotions of those they interacted with. Containment until the being lost its hold on its anchor in the physical world was the key, although the destruction of the creature's host bodies would also work. Alera hoped it would not have to come to that.

The monster shook its head, and it giggled softly. "Oh dear, oh dear," it chuckled. "That might work on my dear brother Slaanesh, but it's not going to work on me!"

Suddenly, a bright spark smashed into the Agent's psychic barrier, and she reeled back from the assault. It was truly ferocious, and she stumbled backward, her concentration an shield broken, as tendrils and limbs immediately stabbed toward her, some of them ending in nasty bone spurs.

Almost too fast to see, metal limbs smashed into the bony protrusions, breaking them with howls of what appeared to be pleasure from the monster. Strong hands reached around the Agent and pulled her back behind a pew, where Brother Tolgerias sat, nursing his head in his hands.

"We might need the Guard," Garen Danar said, as Ally Terenas engaged in a bizarre parody of a slapping session with her mechandrites against the collection of bodies.

"Yes, we should call them," Alera said, her head still spinning.

"Already did it." He replied.

"Good boy."

Her Investigator's mouth quirked up at the corner.

At that moment, with a rather theatrical and surprised yowl, Ally Terenas flew past the two of them in a parody of a somersault, a trail of mechandrites following. She smashed hard into some adamantium pews, making a significant dent in the extremely hard alloy.

Ally shrieked as a talon of _something _smashed through her torso and into the masonry behind her. It sounded certainly more of surprise than of pain, for a mechandrite swiftly swung back and detached the offending claw from its owner, as some sort of sickly looking ichor sprayed through the air. Ally looked down at the offending limb protruding through her body and frowned. Ruined a perfectly good robe. She tried to move but the thing was well stuck into the stone behind her, and she was transfixed.

The emotional entity began to convulse in its triumph, and again reached out for the three humans behind the pew. Her powers could not withstand this creature, and Tolgerias served the same Lord of Order…

There was no going back now. Alera had to make a choice. Emotional Entities could always be fought, but their hosts were all too real…

With a shining, glittering arc, the blade she kept holstered to her back slashed across the torso of the body of Tilla, drawing blood and a yowl of pleasure. Leaping out from behind the bench, the Imperial Agent's eyes glowed a bright blue as she used the eldritch power that gave the Lords of Order their strength to add theirs to her own.

No one quite knew how or why Psykers got their powers, not even the Emperor; but their will could bend reality, and now Alera Jumil spun and slashed with a speed no normal human could match, flicking tendrils of acolyte aside with her blade while her Investigator carried the still groggy priest of Slaanesh away from the monster before them.

She was still careful then, scoring cuts that could be mended, deflecting the worst blows, and she saw, still the mass of people that made up the thing shiver in pain (or was that pleasure?) as she wounded it. She was not trying to kill it. Her left hand began to glow blue, a soft, calming, almost gentle refrain on her lips, the ancient banishment ritual taught to all psychic members of the Emperor's realms…

"Peace be upon you."

She leapt past a few bodies swiping and her, ready to channel pure calm psychic force into the thing, to let it subside and return to the warp, just as she had done for nearly one hundred years.

A pure burst of psychic might emanated from her into the being.

Nothing happened.

A hand reached out and grabbed the Agent's still clothed forearm, and suddenly it melted into a mass of tentacles, reaching, searching for a rip or skin to touch. Suddenly, Alera felt a stabbing pain as the tentacles suddenly punched into her skin, and suddenly she heard a cacophony of voices, inviting, smiling, welcoming. She felt her skin begin to meld, her mind begin to melt, her body begin to amalgamate with the Slaaneshi beast.

The bright burst of a bolter shell's detonation filled her field of vision, and the mass of tentacles burst as the red hot heat disintegrated the arm clutching hers. The agent stumbled back, totally disoriented. She landed on her backside and looked up.

Standing before her were three armoured behemoths in Steel Grey armour. Like ancient knights of long past human history, their rebreather and respiration equipment peaked out in front of their helms like strange beaks, atop powered armours eight feet tall. They had wicked looking chained axes in one hand, an oversized, fully automatic rocket propelled grenade launger in the other. Wolf pelts adorned their forms, joining scrolls and seals of valour, medals of campaigns wages millions of light years away, centuries apart. One of them did not have an axe in his hand. At the end of his glove was a wicked set of claws, crackling with some sort of glowing energy field. At their chests was the proud emblem of the Imperial Aquila, symbols of his Space Marines.

It was an awesome sight, as the knights of his Majesty did their terrible work. Grotesque as the creature was, his Space Marines knew no fear, and they knew very well their work. Revving axes bit into flesh, limbs swatted aside or avoided with the grace that belied the bulk of their powered armour. The monster began to scream terribly as more and more of its component parts were left twitching, dismembered from its body. The parts that were still mostly human and alive began to moan in pain as the Emotional Entity began to leave their forms. In a few moments more, there was only Tilla, poor, sweet Tilla, missing an arm and having gained a foot lodged in her midsection, held down by the great hulk with glowing, crackling electricity around the wicked looking claws in his left hand.

"You will unhand her, Entity!" growled the marine, and it was filled with the calm, placid rage of the warrior in battle.

Tilla hissed, a strange, sibilant sound.

"Maaaaaaaaaaaake meeeeeeeee," she purred, and suddenly she screamed as the entity possessing her forced her to break her own neck.

The marine sagged almost, and then he took off his helmet, his eyes closed, suddenly looking centuries older. His face was bearded, scars crossing the proud countenance. The marine bent his head and reverently closed the poor girl's eyelids.

The other two immediately began to tend to the carnage they had wrought, for still there were people mewling in pain, some with less, some with more than they had and too shocked to do anything else.

* * *

It was when the rest of the wounded were all sent to the medicae, and the sororitas and Garen were tending to Tilla's broken body and Brother Tolgerias' broken mind, that Alera Jumil could find enough time to stop helping with the aftermath to find the great, hulking marine helping to pull the bone spur still lodged in Ally's chest.

She approached the marine, who lunged once and brought out the intruding object from Ally's chest with a great sucking noise. A white fluid followed, and the Mechanicus Magos winced as her self-repair mechanisms began to seal the ruptures in her internal systems.

The Agent nodded to the Space Wolf, who nodded back politely.

Alera spoke first. "Your name, Sir-Marine?"

"Bjorn."

Still crumpled in a heap on the ground, Ally's eyes opened. There were few Space Marines with a lightning claw for a hand, and surely one also named Bjorn…

The Marine caught the tiny dilation in her real eye. "Aye, *that* Bjorn," he laughed, a gentle sound not quite fitting with his fearsome build. He turned to the Imperial Agent. "You tell your Emperor it's not cheating to use my claw against him in an arm wrestle, and he still owes me a tankard."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

OHIMSS 4-

_999.M41, Cadia Segmentum Obscuras_

The visage of the man on the screen was noble, calming, inspiring. His demeanour radiated peace, his eyes wisdom, and the gentle lines around his mouth, compassion.

Many things were said of the Minister-Master Horus, but very few could say that he was unknowing. After all, his Lunar Wolves Space Marines were now the Watchers of Horus, the great founding Legion and its subsidiary Chapters pledged forever to find, hunt down, and placate emotional entities that manifested in the warp. There were very few things of which they did not know, and the great eye, a stylized Eye of Harmony they had taken as their new Legion symbol, served as a watchful beacon of hope to his Imperial Majesty's subjects and a stern warning to his enemies.

_We know what you are doing_.

Alera Jumil was flanked by Monris Rekesten in a conference room on the _Starry Jupiter_, a hololith set into the middle of the table lit up with a three dimensional representation of the Emperor's favourite son and right hand man (after the twelve Ministers of Terra, of course.) The Eye of Harmony was proudly emblazoned on the Minister-Master's powered armour. Alera was nursing her left arm, still itchy from the dermal regenerators which had repaired the damage done to it by a bone spur from a monstrosity caused by an Emotional Entity. Her right hand nursed a cup of _Ulara _tea.

"It fits the same parameters as the attack on Ms. Fyrovski." Monris shrugged, as if such a thing was a routine matter. "A power congruent to a Lord of Order, but apparently orders of magnitude more powerful, overcomes that Lord and overpowers a subject of the Lord." His eyebrow perked up. "Mayhem ensues."

Alera spoke up after a sip from her cup. "From what I understand of what Brother Tolgerias told me, it's actually worse than that. They're not _congruent_ per se, but actually logical extensions of the Lord, taken to some nightmarish extreme. Khorne suddenly becomes a blood soaked brute concerned with nothing but martial valour; Slaanesh cares more about experiencing pleasure than treasuring love; Nurgle has so much compassion for the weak and weary that he makes them accept and want that state; and Tzeentch…" she trailed off slightly. "Well, neither of us can think of what could the horrific logical extension of _Hope_ be, but we are agreed that neither of us would like it." At that, they both nodded.

"Your counsel is troubling," the Minister-Master said, frowning. At this moment, however, Horus did not know what to do, a feeling he had not felt in over ten thousand years. He remembered that time, and he did not like how he had come so close to making the wrong decision. He turned to his right. "Abaddon?"

"Sir?" came the voice, courteous and formal, belonging to one of the Minister-Master's greatest soldiers. A man who had saved countless lives in his ten thousand years of service, feted as Abbadon the Protector. He stepped forward, bringing his power armoured figure into the frame of the hololith's display.

"How go my brothers? Have they any news about the Lords since the last request?"

"Sir, none; but mayhaps I may offer my thoughts…?" Horus nodded.

"Our brothers in the Legion and your brothers find the call and presence of the Lords far fainter. Quieter. But the number of… _emotional entity materializations_," and there he paused to let the modern phrase work around his mouth, used to Gothic as it was spoken ten thousand years earlier, "are ever on the increase, Sir."

Abbadon shrugged his shoulders slightly, as if he was not sure how to interpret that situation. "Never have I known a time when the Lords of Order wane, yet their minions' power waxes. These new eruptions must be somehow discernible."

"That is an idea that's worth thinking about," said Monris, speaking up, and suddenly a whirlwind of thoughts carried him down a path toward a possible solution to their problem. "If there is a qualitative or quantifiable difference between the circumstances of a materialization, maybe we can pinpoint another EEM, ah, _emotional entity materialization,_" he clarified, as the ancient space marine and the primarch on the hololith perked up their eyebrows at the acronym in confusion, "before it occurs, and see if we can distinguish ones that cannot be dealt with normally from the others."

"This is something I believe the Watchers deal with on a regular basis? Would you be able to spare someone?"

Horus understood the logic and the request. The Watchers of Horus knew well how to detect and analyse the pure energy from a warp disturbance into realspace, both with the science of the Imperium and the art of scrying the warp itself. He could certainly spare someone with the skills and knowledge to assist the Imperial Agent.

"We have a young librarian with us with three hundred years of service," said the Minister-Master, forgetting the short-lived lives of baseline humans, even with Juvenat treatments. Alera herself was only one hundred and fifty, and a well experienced agent. "He hails from the Blood Ravens Chapter of the Word Bearers' Legion. He knows both the science and the warp-science when emotional entities rip into our realspace. We will send him to you."

Horus nodded sagely, knowing at least that he could help somehow.

"His name is Azariah Kyras."

* * *

Ally Terenas sat on a park bench in Cadia's capitol district. Great glittering spires rose up into the sky around her quiet oasis, in the middle of which was the Parliament building, first built on the planet in the 32nd millennium. It was a quiet space in the middle of a bustling city, and she found it most agreeable.

Around her, she saw children run and play, their laughter filling the air and putting her mind at ease. She saw office workers taking a break for lunch running the paths that crossed the park, dressed in training gear. She saw others just walk, or sit down on the grass for a moment and contemplate, or play any number of games across the grass. She cocked her head sideways in fascination as she noticed an Ork dressed in the robes of their Trader's caste, sitting cross-legged under a small copse of trees, apparently meditating. She noticed the humans tried to avoid him, while still trying not to make it obvious that they were. There might have been peace between the Emperor and Great Khan Thraka ever since the Second War of Armageddon sixty years ago, but his subordinate warlords never needed much provocation to fight the Emperor's Imperial Guard and Space Marines- whether for profit, jockeying for position at the Great Khan's Bosspole, or Coming of Age ceremonies for their young warriors.

She always found the use of male pronouns amongst the Orks strange, one of her cogitators chimed at her. _What is the use of male gender amongst a mono-gendered race reproducing via spores?_

_It's what they want to be called,_ she said.

_Aren't they technically fungi?_ asked another of her onboard computers.

_That's rude!_ she said to herself.

Ally took in all the sights and sounds, and let them filter through her internal cogitators for analysis and archival. It was a favourite past time, especially when she saw or heard or found something new to record and analyse.

Every now and then, amongst the throng of humanity and the boys playing Guardsmen and Orks, the Orks distinguished by the green face paint, she would notice a couple holding hands, or daring a quick peck on the lips and daring others to notice them, lost in each other. Normally it would just amuse her, but today, a feeling washed over her that she couldn't quite describe. She turned to her left, and looked over at Garen Danar, sitting with her on the park bench in companionable silence.

An olfactory sensor told her why she was feeling so odd. She smiled and poked her friend playfully.

"You got it _on_ last night, Mr Hot-Shot pilot," she laughed, as Garen's face contorted from shock to amusement.

"I can't be that obvious," Garen said, trying very hard not to smile beatifically and failing at it.

"It's the smile," Ally teased, noting his cheeks beginning to glow a bright red. "Anyways," she said, closing her eyes and turning up her nose in the air, just so, "it is just so crass to make it obvious to everyone that you clearly had a good time last night, what with the self satisfied smile and the obvious lack of tension and the pheromone count…"

"I can't help the last one!" Garen chuckled, as his glance darted carefully back to take a look around the park. "And aren't you supposed to be looking for another preacher we can get more information on instead of prying into my love life?"

"I have cogitators for that, and they're working on it right now. And you know perfectly well I like to enjoy the scenery."

"Just checking."

He smiled and turned his head away, back to an unobtrusive scan of the park. Peace reigned as the two continued to watch and wait, with the sole exception of the slightly over-adventurous group of children who went over to ask the Ork whether he'd like to play Guardsmen and Orks.

Some hours later, she was still in a reverie when the pilot spoke up next to her. She didn't notice it at first, because the Ork was now giving the children a lesson in how to bawl WAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUGHHHHH at the top of their voices and they had insisted on emulating his volume and general incoherence.

"I have a question I want to ask."

"mmmm…?"

He paused, an odd expression coming over his face. "Do you ever wonder… what might have happened if things were different?"

Ally cocked her head to the side, considering the matter for a moment. "Of course! Quantum state fluctuations extrapolated to the macro-scale model of the universe would postulate the existence of all sorts of different states for things…" and then she realized she was babbling, and the sentence petered out. She turned to him. "What do you mean?"

"Ever wonder if we met under different circumstances whether we'd be different?"

Ally laughed. "I have to say meeting when the Gellar field of your ship nearly drops while you're in warp transit wasn't the most auspicious of beginnings."

"I've just been thinking about that. There I am, in the Control moderator room, and there you are, deciding to bring me along for the ride rather than just giving me a lasgun and telling me to hold out." Garen paused for a second. "Ever wonder what might have happened if you didn't bring me along?"

The thought had never really occurred to Ally, and she set her cogitators on the matter. She had archived the parameters of the situation at that time, and she played the scenario in her head repeatedly, considering what would have happened had she not taken him and not been able to rely on his knowledge of his ship. The entire analysis took approximately .68 seconds. It was nearly an eternity.

"I calculate that I'd have had a 98.9% probability of failure within the acceptable time parameters to have the Gellar field up and established. I also calculate a near one hundred percent probability that I would have spaced myself out an airlock." She grimaced sheepishly.

"I just wonder," Garen said, "If I didn't have you to help me find Raelin. I don't know. It seems so silly knowing that I _did_ have you and your auspex. I don't think I ever had the chance to say Thank You."

"For what?" Ally asked. "You helped me save the ship."

"You helped me save my wife."

"She wasn't your wife then. She was just the comms tech you managed to smuggle on board from the Sororitas. You could have totally dumped her."

Garen snorted. "What, for you?"

The question hung in the air for approximately .68 seconds longer than it should have.

"You know what, you're totally right. I half think I brought you along because I was attracted to you," Ally pretended to joke. Garen laughed in reply, not having any pheromone sensors or voice stress analysis cogitators of his own.

The two continued to scan the park for a while longer.

"I'm glad we met, though." Garen said.

"I don't think that would ever change." Her voice was a little softer now, almost wistful.

"Good."

It was then that she felt it. An irresistible impulse, a hope, a mad compulsion, almost, and she could feel her biological parts droop with fatigue and her blood sugar levels fall and the sun warm her face amidst the always cold air of Cadia, and then children were now running around their bench with the Ork screaming WAAAAAAUUUUUUGH delightedly and a couple on the grass shared a kiss and then Ally rested her head on Garen's shoulder not realizing it and it was totally inappropriate and By the Omnissiah he has a wife and she's your friend _but human courtship rituals and customs do not consider your current actions to be evocative of the concept of infidelity _and she saw in her mind's eye herself and Garen sitting in loving silence now watching the sun set over Cadia and his arm was around her and she was warm and happy and _get rid of Raelin, he can be mine, I have a plan_ and now she was sighing contentedly because she didn't care.

He shifted to make her more comfortable.

It felt right.

About ten seconds later, they both flinched, as if they had just been scorched where they had touched.

"I'm so sorry!" Ally cried, a sudden feeling of embarrassment rushing through her body, which very quickly turned into a deep and abiding anger, and she wasn't entirely sure why.

"What was that about!?" Garen nearly snarled, and his brow creased into confusion at the anger he was displaying which his conscious mind told him wasn't proportional at all to what he should be feeling.

They both took deep breaths, and felt a measure of calm seep back into themselves.

_Crowd congregating approximately one hundred metres from present position_, one of her cogitators suddenly said, and Ally's eyes widened as she saw a crowd spring up almost from nowhere amongst the people in the park. A beat arbiter stood a little off the crowd, and he could be seen speaking into his commlink. A few of the crowd saw the motion and began to boo derisively at the law officer, who terminated the call and stood impassively with his hands behind his back. He was only there to keep an eye on proceedings. Passers by stopped to look at the group, clearly bemused by the whole situation and hoping for a way to while the afternoon away.

Garen was by now speaking into his commlink, doubtless taking notes, and he stood up and began to amble over to the group, as if interested in what spectacle it had to offer. He turned back to Ally and mouthed _sorry, talk later, promise_ as he kept on walking.

Ally could live with that.

She cocked her head to the side, and her vox picked up the chanting of the crowd. "DON'T KILL HOPE WITH TAXES" seemed to be the most common call, although a few seemed to be somewhat pungent criticisms of the Church of Nurgle. Her left eye focused with a precision that no natural eye could ever match, and she saw a priest of Tzeentch step up so he rose above the rest of the thronging crowd. He began to harangue them, and while he did so, she noticed some helpers of his pass flyers into the crowd, both paper and datapad.

Garen was halfway there, intending to join the crowd of gawpers surrounding the demonstration, and Ally was monitoring the situation, which seemed fairly under control, until the priest pointed at her.

She froze for a second in surprise, perhaps wondering if the priest was trying to attack a priest from another religion, but then she realized what he was pointing at; the children and the Ork, still merrily pretending to blast each other with toy Lasguns.

"See the fetid Xenos?" shouted the priest. "See how he defiles our young ones with his barbaric tongue? And see the priestess of the Machine God do nothing, sitting on that bench idling while good humans are corrupted by the filth of the Xenos?"

"YES," came the reply.

"Will our pathetic Governor-Representant do anything?"

"NO!" came the chant in unison.

"Shall we suffer such unclean filth to live?"

"NO!" and it was then that Ally saw Lasguns appear in the hands of several of the people in the crowd.

Ally's eyes widened even further. She made a surreptitious motion with her head, almost a tiny nod, and opened up a vox channel to the Imperial Agent.

"Aeronautica sends Rose, classify?" she said.

"No need, we're secure. Report."

"We're about to have a riot, and I think it'll get nasty rather quick."

* * *

Alera Jumil practically jumped from the hovercar, landing on the ground with alacrity and sprinting toward the crowd that was rapidly growing in its intensity and ferocity. She saw a line of arbites, standing at attention and ready to take cover behind their riot shields. Their riot prods were in their holsters but on full display, as a warning. Several of the protestors were waving lasguns or auto slug pistols in the air, but they did not seem yet ready to use them.

They were arranged in a circle, with the children and the Ork inside the protective barrier of their bodies. The crowd jeered at the Ork loudly, while the spectators shouted back at the protestors to just get a life already and let everyone go home, not quite realizing the hypocrisy of their positions. The boys were terrified, but they saw the grim faces of the arbites protecting them and the sneer of contempt on the Ork's face, and they took heart.

Garen waved the Agent over at a discreet distance from the crowd, and it looked all to the world as if Alera had just joined her friends at the fringes of the spectators to see what was going on. Ally stood with them, her Mechanicus robes shrouded by Garen's jacket.

"You have to blend in," he'd said, as he had draped the garment around her, shivering slightly at the cold. "I don't want you getting shot."

Ally had found it oddly comforting.

"I have a Vox to the head arbiter," Garen said, and he pressed a button on his commlink. "Hello? Sergeant Rares? This is Mr Danar and Agent Jumil."

The Agent spoke, her voice firm. "Report."

"Ma'am," came the response. "Unsafe to attempt forcible extraction from area, crowd has firearms. I don't want to provoke a violent response. Crowd is not dispersing from oral commands."

"Acknowledged," Alera said. "Confirm if an extraction is possible through spectator crowd. Attempt oral dispersal."

A tinny voxcoder squawk was then heard over the noise of the crowd. "ALL BYSTANDERS. PLEASE DISPERSE. THIS DEMONSTRATION MAY CONTINUE BUT ALL BYSTANDERS ARE TO DISPERSE FOR YOUR SAFETY."

It appeared to be working, as the outer edges of the spectators began to peel off, in ones and twos, and then larger groups, as they decided that they had had enough excitement for the day. The group of arbites could begin to press through with the dispersing crowd, inching slowly away from the demonstrators, who began to come ever closer to the line of arbites. Some of them had their riot prods out now, not yet activated but ready at a moment's notice.

A protestor got too close, well within the range of the arbites' crowd control weapons, and then the riot prods of the line of arbites powered up, crackling with electricity.

The crowd of protestors jeered.

"THE ARBITES ARE PROTECTING THE XENOS SCUM! THEY'RE GETTING AWAY! THE FILTHY XENOS IS GETTING AWAY!"

Then, clear as a clarion call, the priest of Tzeentch, pure, calculating hatred in his eyes, uttered a phrase that send a chill through Alera Jumil's heart.

"COME, MY CHILDREN. LET US REMAKE THIS WORLD FOR SPORT! KILL, KILL, KILL!"

Blue stun bolts flashed out of the crowd and slammed into three of the arbites guarding the group. They fell to the ground, and suddenly the crowd surged forward and the other arbites could not close the gap in time. The crowd of frenzied protestors broke the line and commenced to punch and kick and claw at the arbites, and then a group armed with Lasguns surged forward and began to point their lasguns at their targets…

The Ork shouted an inchoate cry of anger and distaste and jumped between them. His chest disappeared into a pink mist from the Lasbolt that seared from the Lasgun in the hands of the man at the front of group of protestors and would have hit one of the boys with green warpaint in the head had the Ork not been in the way.

"Frak!" yelled Garen, reflexes honed by a quarter century of service in the Imperial Navy's shuttle service, and he had hooked his arms around both his boss and his friend and pulled them to the ground. Lasbolts hissed into the air where the three of them had been, and now there were screams as shots began to be fired indiscriminately into the crowd of spectators, now beginning to flee in crazed panic.

From the ground, Alera could begin to sense a huge, malevolent presence in the warp. It hovered over the priest of Tzeentch, exulting in every death, every hit, every gasp of pain. The priest's eyes began to glow a sickly red, and he began to slowly rise into the air, as if levitating.

Alera began to feel actively ill as waves of nausea washed over her warp-senses. Her eyes flashed blue, and she fought to regain control of herself by pitting her power against the presence…

_*Do you know who I am?* _a voice in her head suddenly asked.

*_I am guessing Tzeentch.*_

_*My my, a clever girl,* _it said. *_You might be perfect for me after all_.*

*_Frak you.*_

*_You know, Alera, this universe is soooooo insipid. No Psykers worth a damn except your Emperor. You know, over in my place you're far tougher than this.*_

_*I know it's a long shot, but if we're all so pathetic here would it do if I asked you politely to leave us all alone?*_

_*Oh! Such touching hope. It sounds like something my bore of a brother, Tzeentch, would say.*_ The presence then seemed to pause and shrug. *_Oh dear. It seems my followers here are insipid too. He's about to get squished. I'll have to use a different plan. Plans within plans. Sigh. I suppose it's what makes it fun.*_

Alera suddenly felt her mind clear, and she could make out the incoming scream of a space marine's jetpack.

A dark red blur crashed into the priest of Tzeentch and smeared him into the grass, along with those closest to him. The shockwave threw yet more others through the air, and even on the ground Alera could feel the tremor of the impact. She looked up, and she saw a space marine Librarian, a powered staff in his right hand and a bolt pistol in his left. He stood up and crushed the head of a man who pointed a Lasgun at his face with the staff. His eyes burned a bright azure blue underneath his amplifier hood, and suddenly, a wave of blue fire erupted from him. It passed harmlessly through Alera, most of the spectators, and the children, but Alera gasped as the protestors _caught fire_ and began to writhe on the ground in agony. Actual tendrils of physical smoke began to rise from their bodies.

* * *

It was several minutes later.

"I was not aware that I would be needed so soon," said the Librarian, his voice deep and low.

The Agent stared out at the scene of carnage before her, of bodies still smoking with psychic fire and jetpack exhaust, of broken bodies crushed by a half tonne of space marine landing upon them. With any luck, the Medicae could treat everyone. But she was not hopeful of that.

Alera Jumil marched up to him, fury shaking her every fibre of being.

"_What in the Emperor's Frakking Name did you just do?"_ yelled Alera Jumil, her face inches away from the infuriatingly calm face.

"I believe," Azariah Kyras replied, the blue light from his eyes fading and a mirthless smile on his face, "I just saved your life."


End file.
